Of Windmills and War (7 page)

7

As the heat and humidity steamed the summer of 1939,
something strange happened to Danny McClain. He knew it all started the day his
dad took him to that double-header at Wrigley. Something about that whole
exchange surrounding the Gabby Hartnett home run ball had sliced open the
tiniest fissure in the arm’s-length relationship his father had with him. Ever
since Joey joined the Navy, Dad had remained stoic, distant, silent—even more
than usual. But Danny noticed something different as each day passed. A kinder
comment here and there. An unexpected interest in Danny’s routine activities. An
occasional scratch behind Sophie’s ears. And perhaps most noticeable, the
gradual ease in the features of the pronounced scowl that usually framed his father’s
face. That, along with a noticeable shift in the atmosphere around the house added
up to a much more relaxed home life.

Since Anya made it clear she wasn’t interested in baseball,
Danny took care not to mention the subject in his letters to her. In his
latest, he’d written about the change in his father over the past few weeks.

. . . I guess you’d have to know Dad to understand his ways.
But it’s all really strange to me. For the first time in my life, he actually
seems interested in what I’m thinking or doing. Stranger still, last night he
invited me to ride along on his delivery route. First time he’s ever asked!
We’ve had a lot of rain lately, so I haven’t been able to mow many lawns, which
meant I could stay out all night with him.

Every night he has to be at Film Row downtown at
1:00 a.m.
Each
studio has an “exchange” office where they stock their films. Dad’s job is to
pick up the film reels ordered by the theaters on his route, then deliver the
reels to each theater. Most movies have four or five reels of film for each
movie. They’re transported in these narrow, octagonal-shaped cans. So we loaded
up the cans from MGM, Warner Brothers, 20th Century Fox,
Columbia
Pictures, and all the other big name studios, then headed off on Dad’s route.
It’s a big area, even crossing over into neighboring
Indiana
(that’s
the state next to
Illinois
). We’d drop off the
film cans, pick up the ones they’d already shown, and drive to the next
theater. We did that all night long. Then, once all the deliveries and pick-ups
were made, we made our way back to Film Row to drop off the ones we’d picked up
along the way.

It was kinda fun, being out all night. We didn’t get home
until
8:00 a.m.
I found out it’s a real
different world that time of night in
Chicago
. Even
the folks working at the studio exchanges were a little shady. Nice, but
ruffians, even the women. Dad talked a lot (which was
real
unusual),
telling me about the people we met along the way, and all about the movies we
were toting around. My favorite is “Stagecoach” with that new Western star, John
Wayne. It came out in February and I’ve seen it at least a dozen times. (I get
to go free to the theater in our neighborhood.) Another one of my favorites is “The
Hounds of Baskerville” with Basil Rathbone playing Sherlock Holmes. That’s a
real scary one! And I’m kinda curious about this new one coming out next month
called “The Wizard of Oz.” Sounds weird, but there’s a lot of buzz around it.

Do you have movie theaters in
Holland
? If
so, do they show American films? What are your favorites? Any favorite movie
stars? I like Hoot Gibson, Johnny Mack Brown, Ken Maynard—they’re all Western
cowboy stars. But I also like Jimmy Stewart, Clark Cable, Laurence Olivier, and
lots of others.

Well, I hope I didn’t bore you with all this. I just thought
you might find it interesting.

I hope you’re having a good summer.

Danny

Over the next few weeks, Dad invited him to ride along now
and then, whenever it wouldn’t interfere with his sleep schedule for his other
jobs. Danny liked going along and found it all really exciting. At least at
first. Then, one night near the end of August, as they were heading back to
Film Row after their deliveries, his dad surprised him as their conversation
took a sharp turn.

“Son, I’ve been impressed with your interest in my work.
Seems you enjoy these nights, making the deliveries.”

“I do. Kinda makes me feel like I’m a part of the movie
business. Like ol’ Hoot Gibson is a buddy we know.” He laughed at the silly thought.
“Kinda like we’re rubbing elbows with all these stars or something.”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoy it, Danny. Which has made me start
thinking you’d be a natural at this when the time comes.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you graduate next year. No need to waste money on
college. Book learning won’t pay the bills. You’re already learning the
business. Soon as you’re all squared away, you can have your own route. We
could be partners. Increase our territory. Your brother . . .
well, Joey never could sit still or finish a job.
Probably just as well he’s gone.
But you’ve got real promise.”

Danny’s head began to swim. He knew enough to nod his head
and act like he was pondering the idea, but truth be told, he wanted to scream.
His mind flashed back to that night at the dinner table when Joey told Dad he
didn’t want to follow in his footsteps. He remembered his dad’s unmasked anger.
And he remembered the vow he’d made that night, promising himself to make sure
Mom and Dad knew precisely what his plans were so he could avoid this exact
conversation. Yet here he was.

Think, think!
he warned himself,
but be
careful what you say.

He knew if he shrugged or acted with indifference, their
relationship would go right back to how it used to be—frigid. He faked a
coughing fit to stall for more time then cleared his throat.

“Wow, Dad. It’s a real honor you’d even consider me for
that.”

His dad reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “I was
hoping you’d say something like that.”

No no no! Don’t leave it like this! He’ll think you said
yes!

“But the thing is . . . well, something this
big, I probably ought to think it over for a while. Spend some time making
sure, you know?”

His dad’s face fell a fraction as he stared at the road
ahead. “I can accept that. But you’ll see it makes a world of sense.”

Danny kept nodding, but mostly wondered how on earth he’d
ever get out of it.

Dear Danny,

I had to laugh when I read your last letter. You asked if we
had movie theaters, as if you think we’re still living in caves here! I believe
if you read your history books you’ll find out
Holland
has
been around
much
longer than your
America
. We
are quite modern here. In fact, my father discovered how to make fire just last
year. Soon we shall have running water in our house! Ha ha. I laughed and
laughed. You are so silly, Danny McClain.

We go to cinemas every time a new one comes to town. Many of
our films come from
England
and
France
, but
we also have American films. Last week we saw “
Wuthering
Heights
.” What
a stupid movie. I wanted to punch that Heathcliff. Such an idiot. But a few
weeks ago we saw “Good Bye, Mr. Chips.” I liked it very much. Did you see it?

The problem with going to cinemas here are the newsreels shown
before they start the movie. Lately they are longer and longer because of all
that’s happening around us. I hate Hitler. He and his stupid army are stirring
up trouble in  half the countries in
Europe
. What
did they ever do to him? On and on, the newsreels run. Once, my friend Diet
threw her hairbrush at the screen and yelled for them to show the movie.

It’s not much better at home. With everyone so worried about
all these threats of war, our doorbell rings day and night as parishioners come
asking my father for prayer and wisdom. Yesterday there was a long line of them
on the front sidewalk waiting to see him, and dozens crammed inside our zitkamer
(what you would call a living room) while he met them one by one in his home
office. Mother is still bedridden, so I have to be hostess. This is not
something I like to do. I’d rather be outside with my animals.

Did I tell you my cat had kittens? Six little ones. Their meowing
is the sweetest sound. Do you like cats?

I worry too. I wish Hans was here so I could talk to him. He
always made things better.

Anya

8

September 1939

For the first time in his life, Danny was glad to be back at
school. Sure, he had looked forward to being a senior, but even more important,
it meant fewer all-nighters running deliveries with his dad. He’d carefully side-stepped
the subject of his father’s invitation to partner his work. Dad hadn’t
mentioned it directly, though traces of it drifted into conversations now and
then. For the life of him, Danny didn’t have a clue how to tell his dad no.

He was pleased to finally have a U.S. History class with Mrs.
Zankowski. With everything going on in
Europe
, she
kept her students engaged in an on-going discussion about the situation
escalating over there. The parents of both Mrs. Z and her husband were Polish
immigrants, and many of her family members still lived in their home country. When
classes began in September, just a few days after the Nazis invaded
Poland
, Mrs.
Z came to class visibly shaken, her eyes still red and puffy. She struggled to
get through her lessons, expressing deep sorrow for her Polish countrymen and
family, yet determined to use the invasion as a teaching tool.

“Living in our great democracy, we take our freedoms for
granted every day we live. We are so blessed here, with our roots firmly established
in liberty, but we must never let our guard down. If Hitler and his regime can storm
into
Poland
, he
can surely storm the rest of
Europe
, picking off one country after
another, squishing them as if they were nothing more than bugs to be
annihilated. And we must pay attention to what is happening there and be ever
mindful of the potential danger to us here at home.

“Thank God the British have now stepped in with the other
Allies to help those poor countries fight the aggressors. I do not understand
why the
United
States
has turned such a blind eye to these invasions, as if it is no affair of ours.
Those nations haven’t the military resources to withstand the hungry Nazi machine.
They need us. Must we wait until the enemy is on our own doorstep?”

Dashing away tears with trembling hands, she continued. But
all Danny could think about was Anya’s family over in The Netherlands. Hans once
told him
Holland
always remained neutral in these
conflicts, sitting out the Great War as their European neighbors fought to the
death. But how could the Dutch possibly withstand an attack this time around
since they shared a border with the Germans who seemed bent on taking over the
world? He’d always brushed off Anya’s mention of war nerves in her country, thinking
she might be over-reacting and a bit melodramatic. But the more Mrs. Z spoke, detailing
what she knew about the fall of her beloved
Poland
, the
more Danny finally began to grasp the seriousness of this war and its proximity
to Anya and her family.

Still, here in
America
life
went on. By the end of September the die-hard Chicago Cubs fans knew their team
wouldn’t make it back to the World Series, sliding back to fourth place in the
National League. Once again the New York Yankees made it to the World Series, and
just as they’d swept the Cubs the year before, they beat the Cincinnati Reds in
four straight games.

With a growing savings account, Danny kept thinking ahead to
next year when he would start college. He’d sent off a letter asking
Northwestern
University
for
admission forms and immediately filled them out the day they arrived. He asked
his mother not to mention any of this to his father. Unless he was accepted,
there was no point. He continued studying hard, making excellent grades, working
as many hours as Mr. Chaney would give him at the grocery store, and picking up
odd jobs from neighbors here and there.

Joey’s postcards arrived sporadically, though whether it was
the slow mail service or a lack on Joey’s part, they didn’t know. Last they heard
the USS
Oklahoma
was somewhere in the Pacific involved in joint fleet
operations with the Army and training reservists.

Whenever he could, Danny would shoot a letter off to Anya. She’d
eventually fallen into the rhythm of writing back almost as often as her
brother had. Danny made a concerted effort to keep his letters light and funny,
hoping to distract her from the gravity of the situation there in
Holland
. He
couldn’t imagine living with such constant fear.

Then one day when he was almost finished writing her about a
freshman who got stuck inside a locker, he stopped cold with his pen poised
above the notebook paper.

Anya’s a girl.

I’m writing a girl.

I’ve been writing a girl for months now.

He glanced up at the photo of her family on the mirror above
his desk. He stared at it for a moment before realizing he always looked at
Anya’s face first before the others.
How long have I been doing that?

Alarmed at the realization, he pulled the old photograph
down from the mirror. Just as he no longer looked much like the kid in the
photo he’d sent Hans over a year ago, surely Anya had changed too. But how? Had
she grown taller as he had? Last time he checked, he was almost six feet, two
inches. Was she tall now too? Had that little girl pout given way to a nice
smile? He doubted she wore pigtails anymore, but he sure hoped she still had
those freckles.

Freckles? What difference does it make if she has freckles
now?

That’s when it hit him. Anya wasn’t just Hans’ kid sister anymore.
She was Danny’s friend now.

Whoa.

His mind took a detour
. Most guys my age have had lots of
girlfriends by the time they’re seniors. I’ve never even been out on a date. Although
it’s not for lack of interest. Jenny McPherson has been sitting behind me in
most of my classes for the last two years since we’re seated alphabetically but
she doesn’t even know I’m alive. Well, except for that time she borrowed my
eraser in geometry. Man, she’s got knockout blue eyes. She’s so
pretty . . . but how do I get her to stop treating me like I’m
invisible? Then again, the one time I tried to start a conversation with her
after class, I couldn’t get two words out thanks to those stupid hiccups. She
laughed at me, even patted me on the back before taking off with her friends. Yeah,
I’m a real Don Juan.

But Anya’s different. We’re just friends. At least I think
we are? Wonder what she thinks about me? She said she likes my letters because they
remind her of Hans. Probably nothing more. But does she at least consider me a
friend?

He shook his head, hoping to clear the silly notions from
his mind, then continued writing.

 . . . then when everyone else went to class,
the janitor was sweeping the hall and heard that kid crying in his locker and
let him out. They said he took off running for home. Can’t say as I blame him.
But it was pretty funny, if you think about it.

That’s about all. I hope everything’s okay where you are.
Sure hope someone drops a bomb on Hitler soon and puts the world out of its
misery—or at least shears off that ugly mustache of his.

Danny

Dear Danny,

I would
have laughed myself silly at the boy in the locker. I might even have locked
him in there myself if he was annoying! I used to play pranks like that all the
time, much to my parents’ disapproval. Now, with all that’s going on, I’m
trying very hard to behave. It’s terribly dull, but I force myself.

I wish
to share some good news with you. Mother has finally recovered from her illness
and the sorrow of losing Hans. She’s still weak, but at least she’s up and
about and trying to get back into a routine. My father and I try hard to help
out and lift her spirits. How Hans would laugh if he could see his “little
Anya” trying so hard to be nice and cheerful for a change.

The
house is still filled with the pesky parishioners. I told Father we should tell
them all to go home then shut the door and lock it. Of course, he is much more
sympathetic with them than I am. It’s so hard not to be grouchy since none of
us get much sleep with the constant roar of airplanes overhead on their way to
Germany
. I too
hope one of these bombs hits the maniac with the awful mustache. Many times, I
have imagined myself shooting him down as a favor to the world.

One of
Father’s parishioners has a farm just outside of town. We’ve known the Boormans
for years. I ran into Mrs. Boorman the other day and found out their son Wim
has a broken leg and cannot help Mr. Boorman with the many chores on their
small farm. She knows I love animals. When I was young I used to play for hours
with their piglets and chicks. I told her I would like to come tomorrow after
school to help with chores.

I
thought of you. I’m just like you, Danny, because I cannot tell Mother and
Father some things—like working out at the Boormans’ farm. They believe I
should be more of a young lady. They will not approve of my plans to muck about
with the livestock—though I would love nothing more than to quit school and
help the Boormans all day. Do you suppose either of us will ever get to do what
we want?

Anya